


Edges

by crimsonepitaph



Series: Rockstars Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Rock Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonepitaph/pseuds/crimsonepitaph
Summary: Jensen watches Jared performing.





	Edges

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's note** : As always, thank you to **borgmama1of5** for the feedback and for reading all my crazy writing in unpolished form.

They’re a band. Now. _Finally_.

Or…at least, something like it. Them. Five guys and their instruments. Thoughts thrown together, ideas bouncing off improvised riffs. At times brilliant, at times utterly incoherent. Fluctuating between slow songs and meaningful lyrics and music for the sake of it, noise, instrument sounds clawing at the air, fighting, screaming – nothingness in breaths and a crazy rhythm.

And Jared.

_Jared…_

Slow, smooth, unnervingly calculated in gestures and looks, six foot four of lazy sex in the mornings and come dripping down red, swollen lips. When he moves, when the muscles in his back and shoulders shift and stretch under the tight, sleeveless tops he insists on wearing. When he just _is_ , when he looks away from the stage to the audience, and his ass in Jensen’s direct line of sight, in jeans tight enough that Jensen’s sanity is in peril.

Flawed. Difficult and stubborn.

Voice breaking sometimes, an edge, a jump over and invisible cliff that makes Jensen hurt, be scared for a moment, for that second when he _feels_.

He feels Jared. All of him.

On stage, more than anywhere.

Depths to the end of his soul in fissured notes and voiceless screams – pain written out in breaths that spread with the air, ethereal, uneven. And Jared just lets it, body bending forward, eyes closing, stretching the boundaries of the world, slipping into the one in Jared’s mind entirely.

And Jensen watches.

There’s nothing you can do, but watch. And want. Want the way Jensen never wanted anything, ever. Deeper, alight, burning.

Until Jared touches him. Kisses Jensen, right then and there, and he wants to come out of his skin, flee, only anchor being his grip on Jared’s hip.

_His._

His, when Jared finishes, when the music stops, and Jensen finds that his fingers have played along the strings of the guitar without him. When Jared turns towards him, searches, dazed and drunk with the moment, exhausted by the effort of pulling himself back from the brink, back to this, to the frail strands of reality.

Jensen nods. Smiles, barely there curve of his lips. His hands are shaking. He doesn’t know how much more he can do this. At this intensity.

He feels like he has to claw back right along with Jared, and it’s a journey that’s too much his.

Too much Jared.

Too much…himself.

Too much, simply.

It’s seconds, only, until the light changes, until the applause roars – but Jensen doesn’t have time to breathe. Jared kisses him. There, in front of the crowd, but it’s not like either of them sees it. Jared kisses hard, possessive, like this – right now, his hands, touching Jensen, his lips – like this is the only thing that’s worth it.

It smells faintly sweet. That artificial, incandescent smoke – it always smells like this.

A hazy image, when Jensen blinks: a dark, technicolor picture of Jared’s features, and his palms – Jared’s palms on his cheeks.

And then, music. Again. This time, the notes of another beginning.


End file.
